My sister Stacy loved bunnies. She raised them while growing up. Dad would spend weekends building her hutches that looked more like the Four Seasons than rabbit cages for the little white and brown fluffy animals she so adored. Due to Mom’s influence, she also loved gymnastics, reading, horses, and life. She also loved listening to Rick Springfield. As teenagers, we took swimming lessons together at Longshore Club Park in Westport, Connecticut. She was beautiful with a wise-beyond-her-years moral code, and she always knew what was right and what was wrong.

These childhood memories hovered just below the surface when, during a business school panel presentation to close to 100 people at The University Of San Diego, someone in the audience asked me what motivates me to do so much- train for triathlons, teach at the university, become a serial entrepreneur. I paused to reply. Then, for the first time in my life, I uttered out loud these words, with a voice that was strong and clear: “When I was 14 years old, my sister died in my arms. She was 16.”

The room went silent. My heart trembled. I waited a bit, then continued. “My sister Stacey had bone cancer that spread to her lungs. I was trying to resuscitate her, to help her breathe, but my CPR efforts weren’t working. When your sister and best friend dies in your arms, something in your own life short circuits. Or rather, you suddenly become aware of new realities.